I’ve been thinking a lot about death recently, or perhaps, it is death that has been thinking of me. Did I ever tell you I can see ghosts? It’s true; I see ‘em all the time. When you’ve known death and its many faces, you know that the duty of the dead is they remind us to live. So, I suppose, what I really should be saying is; recently I have been thinking a lot about life.
There are many ghosts to be found in the Fall as death litters the ground with it’s decayed trinkets. The advent of autumn looms as the last leaves atop my family tree have begun to wither away like the last lick of embers in an arid hearth. All the men who have raised me are either dead or dying, and I steel myself for what will be a weary winter chasing the spirits of my fathers into that long night I cannot follow.
I am trying to find the beauty in the changing of leaves, but it’s all I can do to seek some semblance of warmth amidst the coldest season of my life. There is a vision painted in the mist of their dwindling breath, to live the life they couldn’t. To do what I must to survive until spring’s sun thaws the ice that has long made a home in my heart. For now, I dream about life, and I think about death, and I see ghosts in the shivering trees. There will always be a longing to see green leaves back on those branches so barren; now I know this is called grief.
– I G